


Wounds That Lie Deepest

by Whoareyou0000



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Evil Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Genocide, Good Morgana (Merlin), Gwaine Being Gwaine (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), POV Merlin (Merlin), Pre-Slash, Prince Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Uther Finds Out About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Worried Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23350765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoareyou0000/pseuds/Whoareyou0000
Summary: A hunting trip gone wrong results in Merlin taking a dangerous fall into a trench filled with Camelot’s buried secrets. Trapped by the magical ghosts of the kingdom’s past transgressions, Merlin struggles to break free while Arthur fights to save the man he loves, and his kingdom, from the sins of his father.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 511





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Merlin is a product of BBC. I simply play with the characters in my spare time.
> 
> Author's Note: I've had this plot poking around in my brain for awhile, so I figured I'd give a multichapter fic a shot. There are lots of spoilers in the tags, so maybe look away if you'd rather be surprised. I don't know how many chapters this will be yet, but two is nearly finished. This is just a bit of a teaser. As always, let me know how I did! Thanks for reading!

Merlin hung loosely onto his horse’s reigns and savored the tingle of magic in the forest air. 

Nature’s power held a comforting presence for the young sorcerer, the familiarity of home. It sat lightly upon his skin, just strong enough to alert the hairs on his arms and provide a boost to an otherwise drool morning of hunting and tracking. Hoofbeats and the occasional knicker were the only sounds polluting the natural landscape, along with Arthur’s typical shouting of commands, of course. 

Merlin could sense Arthur’s mounting frustration as the trees grew thicker and closer together at the center of the forest. The ground beneath had become softer due to the previous day’s rain and the lack of sunlight beneath the canopy. This made their target, one yet-to-be-seen moose, nearly impossible to track. The prince rode up beside him in an angry huff, shoulders back and tense. He turned squinted eyes against the afternoon sun and spoke to Merlin nonchalantly.

“At least you seem to be enjoying yourself, Merlin. Riding in circles is a child’s game, I suppose.” 

Merlin smiled crookedly, turning a glinting eye to his blonde counterpart. “And killing an innocent animal for his head is a favorite game among royalty, sire.” 

The wrinkle between Arthur’s brows relaxed briefly and his eyes sparkled. Merlin understood his role in this conversation. He found himself more than willing to play along if it meant seeing his master’s toothy and decidedly handsome smile. 

“My father’s orders are explicit. Do you suggest I ignore them? Because that is treason, Merlin, and punishable by death.” 

“I would never, sire.” Merlin’s horse chortled. He caressed the soft black hair with a kind smile. Arthur nodded, satisfied, and then abruptly raised his head when his servant continued. “I’m simply saying that the game that pleases one king may not please another.” 

“Ever the wise fool.” Arthur laughed, shaking his head. “You just can’t help yourself, can you Merlin? Any other prince would have your head for that statement.” 

“I believe you just proved my point, my lord.” Merlin met sincere blue eyes with undisguised affection. They mirrored the emotion, warming his cheeks until he broke the contact. “Besides, I’ve been your manservant for years. I know you far too well to be afraid of you.” 

“Is that so?” Arthur nudged his horse closer and reached out, mussing Merlin’s hair roughly. He raised his arm in defense, barely putting up a decent fight against the friendly attack. “How about now, then?” 

Merlin’s body vibrated so fiercely with laughter that he hardly heard Lancelot’s call. Arthur straightened up at once, quickly steadying Merlin with a firm touch to his shoulder before clearing his throat and riding ahead. Merlin fixed his hair and smiled at his retreating prince, satisfied that he had done his duty for the moment. 

When he caught up a few moments later, Arthur had dismounted in a small dimly lit clearing. His face once again edged with concentration as the knights milled about in their own drowsy frustrations. The horses huffed and swung their heads with burgeoning anxiety. Arthur barked a command with flared nostrils.

“Leave the horses. We’ll go on foot from here.” 

The horses stepped carefully, as if avoiding an invisible trap. Merlin’s own steed hesitated to enter the small clearing. He nudged him on, whispering encouraging words into his ears until they reached a patch of inviting grass. There he dismounted with a heavy sigh. The carefree feeling disappeared, leaving only escalating dread. His magic lay like a brick within his body and the air tasted bitter and thin. 

Everything about this place felt wrong.

Gwaine appeared beside him and handed his reigns over with a friendly pat on the back. 

“Here you go, Merlin. He might need some of your whispering to get him on.” 

Merlin took the black horse with a guarded smile. The animal dug its hooves into the dirt with a resolute snort. Eyes fixed on Arthur’s nervous pacing and suddenly vigilant posture, Merlin posed a question to Gwaine. 

“Does something feel off about this place to you?”

“Other than us chasing after an imaginary moose so that the king may redecorate?” Gwaine shrugged. “Nah. It’s just the canopy, mate. Horses hate the dark.” 

The horse whinnied and riled up, as if in protest against the accusation. Merlin fought with the reigns, a useless attempt against a thousand-pound animal. The spook alerted the other horses, triggering a symphony of panicked brays. Then Merlin found himself nearly pulled from the ground by the sheer force of it all. A swinging hoof flashed in his peripheral vision. Merlin closed his eyes, his magic rising in its own defense, when a strong grip snatched the ropes from his hands and shoved his body with force. 

Merlin stumbled, dizzy and confused. He sought solid ground with his feet only to catch his toe upon something firm and imposing. Then he felt himself tumbling backwards through the air for what felt like an eternity before he crashed onto firm ground. His head spun. His body ached. His magic bubbled up from within like an angry geyser, a warning of pending danger. 

“Merlin!” 

Arthur’s voice sounded thick and otherworldly. Then it disappeared as magic as dense as the deepest ocean rose up from the ground, encompassing Merlin’s paralyzed body in a metaphysical tomb. Then, another voice invaded Merlin’s mind. This one belonged to a child.

_Help us_

Merlin stirred, eyes still closed, and mumbled to the mysterious presence.

“Who are you?”

_We are you, Emrys._

_You are us now._

Then, the child returned.

_It hurts._

“Hurts?”

_No!_

The voices gave way to screams. They came from children, women, and even men. These were not just any screams, these were rabid, unbridled, manic. Merlin’s beaten brain connected them to those of the live prisoners set ablaze in Camelot’s square. They dug into his eardrums, sent waves of agony through his skull, and burrowed deep into his consciousness until he could only cover his ears and silently beg for mercy. His magic clawed from within, struggling to break free. Meanwhile the screams got louder and closer and hungrier until his own voice joined them. 

The last thing Merlin felt was the touch of a familiar hand upon his head, smoothing his hair back down.


	2. Arthur. Dig.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin goes into a magical catatonic state after falling into a dark trench. Arthur and Gwaine come to his rescue, and the once and future king ponders the history of a secret cursed trench and Camelot's role in its coverup.

It happened so fast that Arthur hardly had time to adapt his response. 

First came the restless horses, and he assured his men to remain calm.

Then the sudden spook, and he ordered his knights to take control. 

Lastly, Merlin. 

Merlin nearly getting kicked in the head. Merlin falling backwards into a trench almost three times his own height in depth. Merlin splayed face-up at the bottom, eyes closed and completely and worryingly still. 

The stillness did it, for only the dead could remain so still. The stillness propelled Arthur from his place of command and over the side of the trench in the span of a single rational thought.

“My Lord?” Came Lancelot’s plea. “Wait!”

“Calm the horses. I’ll check on Merlin.” 

Arthur attacked the ledge like an enemy to be defeated. He dug the toes of his boots into the crumbling sides, kicking relentlessly until he created shallow steps in the loose dirt. He clawed his hands into the soil until his nails turned black and his fingers disappeared into its depth, all the while glancing back at his servant’s seemingly lifeless form. 

“Merlin!”

Nothing. Not a single acknowledgement. Moving his right foot first, Arthur tackled the decline swiftly and with just enough care to ensure his own success. The first foothold held little support. His boot slipped out easily and sent a shower of dust downward. His clenched hands caught his weight and held him upright. His other foot simultaneously sought out harder ground and landed on a rock strong enough to serve as an anchor. His hands followed in quick increments. Two big steps later, Arthur leapt from the wall and landed roughly on the trench’s floor. Then, Merlin spoke through the thickness of unconsciousness.

“Who are you?”

He knelt at his servant’s side and immediately began his assessment.

“Merlin, it’s me. It’s Arthur. Hold very still.” His hands first passed around Merlin’s neck, beneath the kerchief, and slid up around his head in search of any bumps or cuts. He came away with nothing but smooth skin, breathing a sigh of relief, and then ran his hands over boney shoulders and onto a slender torso. He lifted Merlin’s tunic and dragged his palm over his pale chest and belly, finding nothing concerning. He located the natural curve of Merlin’s waist and slid his hand beneath to confirm the spine’s natural alignment, all the while pressing just firmly enough on his chest to keep him still. An assessment of his legs and feet garnered the same results. Finally, his fingers followed Merlin’s lanky curves back around to his arms, pressing lightly against the bones of his wrists.

“Hurts?” 

He stopped at once and studied Merlin’s closed eyes and troubled expression. His servant’s entire face creased in pain and yet, Arthur found nothing swollen or out of place anywhere on his body. Gently, he returned the wrists to the ground, noting their fragility, and moved his fingers lovingly over the messy hair. 

“What hurts, Merlin? Tell me.”

Merlin’s arms shot upwards. His palms covered his ears with such pressure that they suctioned to the outer flaps. Then he arched up at the shoulders, his back forming a twisted U, opened his mouth, and screamed like a thoroughly wounded animal awaiting the mercy of a final mortal strike. 

Arthur’s eyes widened. He raised his arms in surrender, fearful that he’d somehow caused this response. A shiver shot through his body at the horrendous sight. It iced his veins and turned his blood cold. He’d watched plenty of men die, good and not. This, though, he could not bear.

Not Merlin. Anybody but Merlin. 

“Merlin?” The name came out in a tortured whisper. An angry bellow followed. “Merlin!” 

Another set of boots landed inside of the trench. Gwaine knelt over Merlin’s opposite side, tightly gripping the seemingly injured man’s shoulders and legs and carefully pressing him back to the ground. All the while the screams continued between tortured gasps and crippling sobs. 

Arthur turned furious eyes upon his knight and raised his voice over the agonizing wailing. 

“What did you do to him?” 

Gwaine’s expression darkened. He swallowed a likely treasonous reply with a bitter expression and held firm to the spasming man beneath. 

“Nothing, _sire_.” Merlin jerked violently. Gwaine flinched but held tight, his expression softening. “Saved his head, I thought. I didn’t know the clumsy boy would fall in a hole.”

The red behind Arthur’s eyes faded only slightly. He moved to Merlin’s head and positioned his hands firmly around the shoulders. This allowed Gwaine to focus on Merlin’s legs, thereby keeping him somewhat flat against the ground. The screaming continued, his voice growing hoarse from overexertion.

“Right, well he is _Merlin_ isn’t he?” Arthur looked up to find the rest of the knights peering down in absolute horror at the howling servant boy. “Don’t just stand there. We’ll need a litter. Quickly. Percival, throw down Merlin’s bag. No one else comes down here.”

“Where is he hurt, sire?” Gwaine spoke urgently, his arms flexing against Merlin’s continued fight. 

The bag landed by their side with a thud. Arthur swallowed, forcing himself to remain calm in the face of Merlin’s obvious agony, and opened the fabric cover with one hand. “Nowhere that I can see. There’s not a single drop of blood or a broken bone. It must be internal.”

“Or in his mind.” Gwaine stared wide-eyed at Merlin’s disturbingly contorted face. Arthur fought to ignore the implication, instead searching for the potion Merlin had once used to treat his own pain. “I’ve seen such a curse before, sire. It can change even the strongest man for good.” 

“Enough!” The command roared like fire from a dragon’s mouth. Even the knights working on the ledge stood at attention. “Such speculation is not helping Merlin, now is it? We will treat this as with all injuries, one step at a time. For now, we must put him to sleep to ease his suffering and prevent further harm.” 

Gwaine dropped his worried eyes in a subtle bow and focused back on the screaming and writhing servant. Arthur found the little cloth bag. He put it to his own mouth, unwinding the blue thread with his teeth, and dumped the green bottle out onto into the dirt. 

“I’ll hold his head in place. You pour it into his mouth.” 

Gwaine did as instructed, abandoning Merlin’s shivering legs. Arthur positioned his hands beneath Merlin’s head, pinning his shoulders down with his arms, and raised his clenched face up to naturally open his jaw. When Merlin’s lips parted for another scream, Gwaine slipped the potion inside.

Arthur looked on in dismay as Merlin fought against the potion’s effects. His whole body convulsed in the prince’s arms, and Arthur pressed down harder to stop the jerky movements. Finally, after several terrifying moments, his servant’s face scrunched sorely before relaxing into an open-mouthed gape. Just before succumbing to rest, Merlin cracked his eyes so only a hint of blue showed. In that moment, Arthur recognized his servant, his friend, and sighed his relief. Two strained words escaped Merlin’s lips.

“Arthur. Dig.” 

Merlin collapsed just as Percival and Leon lowered the litter down into the trench. Gwaine exhaled and fell back, running a trembling hand through his flowing hair. Arthur caught a shimmer of wetness in those big brown eyes and gave the knight an appreciative pat on the shoulder. 

The prince leaned in and felt the throbbing pulse in his servant’s neck, wiping stealthily at his own eyes. Then he ran a steady hand over Merlin’s forehead and whispered soothing assurances as Gwaine prepared the litter for the transfer.

“Sleep, Merlin. Sleep now.” 

……..

It was later, while watching Merlin sleep restlessly under the warmest bedroll, that Arthur considered those words.

Arthur. Dig. 

He cast a curious glance at the open trench. The moonlight touched the entire forest to some degree, even on the blackest of nights, but that pit bathed itself in darkness. He searched his mind, trying to recall when and why it had been dug, but could find no recollection. In fact, the entire clearing felt foreign, as if his father had deliberately kept him away from it all of his life. It seemed that he should have known of its existence, considering the dangers it clearly posed. 

Merlin whined a noise alarmingly close to the screams of earlier. Arthur scooted beside the younger man and hooked his hands beneath his armpits, lifting and then pulling him partially onto his lap. Merlin squirmed and then found a comfortable place for his head on Arthur’s thigh, settling into a restful slumber. 

The prince leaned back against a tree, traced a hand through Merlin’s hair, and whispered a promise.

“Whatever has been hidden here, Merlin, I’ll find it. You have my word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the show Merlin or the lovely sorcerers and nobles within. 
> 
> Author's Note: Two is up. Thanks for reading and for all the kudos! Blame the quarantine for my inabilty to concentrate on anything but Merthur right now.


	3. By My Troth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin awakes to voices of all kinds and learns of his long-forgotten ancestors. Arthur digs and discovers a family secret so dark that he cannot turn a blind eye. Together, they forge a pact to end Camelot's reign of terror.

Merlin realized two things upon his next dawn of consciousness. 

First, that his magic had awoken. It remained drowsy, hardly able to lift its head from the prison imposed by the restless spirits without, but its eye cracked open just enough to interpret Merlin’s surroundings and leak a slow stream of power into his exhausted body. He turned himself inward to reach this trickle and lapped it up like a man about to die of thirst.

Second, his hearing returned with a maddening potency. Disembodied voices assaulted him from all angles. Some he recognized, like those of Arthur’s trusted knights, and others belonged to the souls buried deep within a hole in the ground by an evil so dark that a very glimpse at its face sent Merlin into terror-induced fits. 

The combination lit his nerves on fire. 

Only Arthur’s touch alleviated the burn. Only the prince’s words soothed the smolder. This time, unfortunately, Merlin found himself in the presence of squabbling knights, frightened horses, and desperate souls. 

_See, Emrys._

“They’re horses, Leo, not dragons. I’ve tamed worse.”

_He hunted us._

“And what if he wakes up screaming, Gwaine? The state they’re in, the horses will throw us all to our deaths, including Merlin.”

_Rounded us up, one by one._

“I’ve never heard screaming like that coming from a man. The potion hardly quells his suffering. Merlin needs help. We must find a way.”

_Cut our throats._

“Lancelot is right. This is Merlin. We can take him to Camelot on our backs.”

_Threw us into the trench_

“He nearly scratched my eyes out when I moved him away from the fire, Percy. He’ll only allow Arthur to touch him.”

_Left us to die beneath the dirt._

“And if Arthur is injured as well? He’s been staring at the trench since dawn. It’s as if he’s been enchanted.”

_Emrys, see._

“I stood in that trench beside them both and I’m peachy. Whatever is wrong with Arthur and Merlin, they’re in no hurry to leave this place. All we can do is wait and protect our men. That’s our duty.”

\--------

Arthur crouched within the trench, his eyes moving from one end of the abyss to the other. With the sun now above the horizon, the pit caught just enough light to make it more than a dark void. The rays streamed through the trees and onto the soil like arrows pointing him in the right direction. It all felt foretold, as if he were always meant to sink his boots into this place. Arthur the warrior, and Merlin his guide. Sorcery crossed his mind, of course, but malicious enchantment always came with an artificial aftertaste. This tasted as real as the forest air and felt as right as Merlin’s head upon his lap.

Arthur looked up and to his left, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge. He searched for a watchful set of eyes. 

No one. 

Yet, not no one. Someone. More than just one. His instincts never failed in that regard. They’d been watched since they trekked upon this place by those waiting for him to fulfill a quest that he never knew he’d undertaken.

The knights remained with Merlin, as instructed, and they would only bother him should Merlin wake again. This gave him plenty of time to ponder, to stare, to feel the suffering within this pocket of land. 

Plenty of time to dig.

All of his training, everything he’d come to know in his twenty-five years as Uther’s son, told him that that this was ridiculous. That he should just pack up camp, hoist Merlin upon his shoulders, and take him back to Gaius for treatment. Of course, Merlin fought every last attempt at removing him from the clearing and Arthur’s gut led him back into the pit again and again.

Then there was his servant, his best friend, _his_ Merlin, telling him to dig. 

So, Arthur stood, took the firm stick in his hand, and stabbed at the loose dirt. 

An hour later, after his back ached and his tunic dripped with sweat, he reached his answer. 

When the sun hit the bare bones and reflected off their shared rings, he fell to his knees and finally understood.

\--------

Merlin’s head filled with sobbing, screaming, and gasping.

He experienced it all through their eyes and hearts, every emotion. Hundreds of innocent people herded into the clearing from across the land under the promise of a new beginning. The spark of sunlight on the face of a sword as it slashed. Children grasping their throats, tasting metal, choking on their own blood. All falling atop each other, one at a time, as the air left them. He fell with them and landed facing his own blood-soaked hand. He bore a ring with a famliar symbol, two inward-facing arches connected with a solid line. The bodies continued to pile up until the screaming gave way to gurgling and then nothing at all.

As the dirt came down, covering his paralyzed body, Merlin peered up into the face of the man responsible for the execution of an entire people. 

His people.

Thin lips pressed together in a victorious smile, beady eyes squinted with approval, a red cape, bearing the yellow dragon, billowed in the wind. 

The crown atop Uther’s head reflected the afternoon sun. 

Merlin didn’t notice his own wracking sobs until they stopped under a protective hand. Its comforting weight sat firmly upon his chest, while careful fingers caressed his forehead. Then a familiar voice came through the veil of tears and blood, announcing itself clearly and demanding his attention.

“Merlin, it’s Arthur. Listen to me. Only me.” 

He found his voice then, digging deep to form the words with a heavy tongue.

“They’re so afraid. Make him stop, Arthur.” 

“I know.” Protected arms lifted Merlin until he rested in a warm lap, his head leaning against a broad chest. Arthur’s thundering heartbeat overpowered everything else. A loud choked whisper spoke straight into his ear. “I dug, just like you asked. I found them. I know what happened here and my father will pay. I will give them peace and justice, Merlin, but I need you to wake up. I need your help.” Arthur’s voice grew stern and commanding. “Do you hear me, Merlin? Your prince needs your help. I order you to wake up, now!”

Merlin’s chest expanded with a deep and cleansing breath. The countless emotions plaguing his mind stepped back. He no longer felt suffocated, buried, and dead. They remained within his mind of course, those tortured souls, holding onto the edges and whispering his real name with a cadence of hope. However, one voice held them at bay. The only voice that could cause Merlin to fall in line. 

Merlin quietly exhaled and blinked his eyes open to reveal Arthur’s pained face, smudged with sweat and dirt. Hair matted to his forehead, he stunk of hard work and his lips twisted as if he had just tasted the most bitter concoction. Clean lines ran down the filth on his cheeks and his blue eyes rimmed in red. 

“Arthur. You dug.”

“I did.” The prince nodded. “I will continue to dig until they are all uncovered. The knights have volunteered to help. When you regain your strength, you must show me how to give them a proper rest.”

Merlin nodded, already feeling the air cool within the cursed clearing. He crawled further into the chainmail chest and let the cold steel calm the inferno raging just beneath. His body shivered and the arms tightened. Merlin met Arthur’s broken stare with a strained taunt.

“You actually did as I asked? I must really have been dying.” 

The prince snorted and averted his eyes. “Yes, I took an order from you, Merlin.” He dragged them both to a full upright position against a tree. “You took one from me as well, I recall, and without a single argument.”

Arthur kept a possessive hold on Merlin in their new position, and the servant clung to his prince’s body like a lifeline. They each adjusted their heads at once, their gazes meeting halfway with shared understanding.

“This must be a serious matter, then.”

“Quite.” Arthur’s voice grew thick with emotion. He looked back towards the trench with a far-away stare. “They wore silver rings. Every one of them. The symbol…I’ve never seen it before.” 

“The bisected arches.” Images of Merlin’s own lifeless hand bearing the symbol flashed through his foggy mind. “They were empaths. Druids who could read emotions, feel the suffering of others. They lived in small clusters because they could not bear to be amongst many. They used their power to comfort, to cure emotional ills. It could not be used for evil, for such evil would only come back upon them.”

“And yet my father slaughtered them all anyway.” Arthur spit the words, tightening his hold on Merlin. “I cannot bear witness to his injustices any longer. His reign must end.” 

Merlin twisted until their gazes met again. The determination in Arthur’s told him all he needed to know. He placed his hand over the prince’s steady and reassuring heartbeat. The vow came easily, as if it had always been at the tip of his tongue. 

“I will fight at your side, Arthur, even if it means my own death. By my troth.” 

Arthur placed his hand on Merlin’s chest, his eyes shimmering. 

“I will not allow him to harm you, Merlin, or anyone else of your kind. I will protect you with my life. There shall be no more suffering under Camelot’s archaic and discriminatory laws.” He gave a single resolute nod. “By _my_ troth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or any of the characters within. 
> 
> Author's Note: Three is up. Thanks for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! It's nice to know that I'm not just shooting this Merthur angst out into the void.


	4. Our Secret Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur comes to a decision regarding his father. Merlin harbors a weapon that could bring all of Camelot to its knees.

It was the way Merlin approached Arthur, head bowed and utterly defenseless, that sealed the fate of Uther Pendragon. 

For Arthur of all people understood the immense power resting behind Merlin’s gentle exterior. The boy could take over an entire room with a smile. He could rid Arthur of a sour mood with a single jab and lift him from his lowest point with a few carefully chosen words. When faced with the likelihood of death, Merlin marched into battle right beside Arthur, giving him reason to fight. In return, the servant boy took vegetables to the face at Arthur’s command and endured abuse and condemnation from those who would have him killed if they knew his truth. 

He could have ended it all with a single crook of his finger. 

So, when Merlin hesitated beside Arthur, those commanding fingers tangled in the edge of his tunic and golden eyes suddenly quite interested in a spot of dirt on the forest floor, Arthur did not question his own role in the events that would follow. 

“Arthur, are you sure?” 

The prince swallowed a thickening lump and focused on the citadel from their place atop their lookout point. Camelot seemed so small, suddenly. He’d spent his entire life feeling the enormity of his future kingdom, basking in the luxuries of it all. Even as he grew, it grew larger around him until its walls loomed above like judgmental gods peering down from every angle. All the while, the most disparaging, dangerous of those gods sat upon the throne. 

He, too, could end it all with a single gesture. He had. 

At this, Arthur raised his head and trapped Merlin’s questioning eyes in a lingering stare. 

“I stood in their grave, Merlin. It could have been your grave. Of course, I’m sure.” 

The younger man stepped closer and gazed upon their home with a worrying sadness. They had yet to speak of Merlin’s magic outright. Arthur, upon seeing those bodies in the trench, had simply known. Just as he had known where to dig and how deep. Maybe he had always known, somewhere deep down, that Merlin’s power went far beyond that of a charismatic, loyal manservant. Oddly, when he held Merlin in that clearing, the reveal settled upon Arthur like a warm blanket. Merlin was magic. He simply was. That would not, could not, change anything at all between them. 

A thought occurred to Arthur that he could not squash. 

“Merlin, were you ever happy in Camelot?” 

A cautious smile climbed up those cheeks. For the first time in days, Arthur recognized his Merlin, his something yet to be defined. 

“Yes, from the day I arrived. I love Ealdor, it is my home, but I always felt muffled within its borders. I couldn’t learn or grow. I couldn’t be myself. Camelot freed me.” 

“How?” Arthur faced Merlin, voice edging with anger. “You could have been killed for something you couldn’t even control. You had to know that stepping over those borders meant nothing close to freedom for your kind. Having to hide your magic from everyone, from me, how could that possibly make you happy?”

The underlying question hung in wait.

_How could you not tell me?_

Merlin studied the bait in pointed deliberation before letting it fall away. His eyes drifting from the citadel to the ground and then back up to the prince with quiet reassurance. 

“I’m not just talking about my magic, Arthur.” He stepped back and leaned against a tree, slowly raking the dirt with his toe. “I’m talking about who I am. I may not have been permitted to speak aloud about many things, but I could embody them alongside you. You gave me permission, long ago, maybe without even truly understanding. That alone was worth my life.”

Arthur took this response for everything that it entailed and held it sacred. The quiet acknowledgement of something he already knew settled the churning storm within his chest. He thought he owed the same consolation to Merlin. With a deep breath, he approached the dark-haired man who had somehow become his everything.

“You could have told me.” He stopped just short of touching the man, his hand falling to his own leg instead. “About your magic, about you. I would have protected you. At the very least, you wouldn’t have had to suffer alone.”

Merlin’s eyes glistened, the implication of those words not lost. He looked from his feet to Arthur and back, seemingly uncertain. 

“Maybe so, but that would have set you at odds with your father and put your future as the king at risk.” He looked away. His face suddenly creased in shame. “It seems I’ve done that anyway.” 

Arthur hummed. Carefully, he reached for Merlin’s hands. He stretched thick and strong fingers over Merlin’s long lanky ones and slowly they both bent to their desire for contact. They’d never held hands before. Just like they’d never embraced or fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Always stopping just short of touching, for reasons that made no sense anymore. Seeing Merlin lying in that pit, that grave, had woken Arthur from his stupor and propelled him to finally act. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Merlin. My father brought this upon himself.” Merlin squeezed his hands. “I know I’ve not been most honorable either. The atrocities that I have allowed, that I’ve committed, in his name…” 

Merlin ran his thumb over Arthur’s first finger. It sent chills through his body and eased his remorse. 

“You are a good man, Arthur. I believe in you.” He paused, seemingly searching for words. “That’s why I wouldn’t blame you if you changed your mind. Uther is your father, first and foremost. There are other ways.” 

Arthur closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead upon Merlin’s. 

“There is no other way.” He moved his hands up, gripping Merlin’s wrists and gently leading him back towards the ledge to face their home. “Do you see that square? Hundreds of men, women, and even children lost their heads there because they were suspected of using magic. If that grave is any indication, then that’s just a fraction of the lives he took. I watched it all from my place beside my father, trusting that he was right, trusting that magic was evil.” 

Merlin stood tall, facing the dreaded square, and then his ally, with renewed strength.

“Yes, but you didn’t know any better. Maybe Uther doesn’t either. That’s why we need to show him, teach him. If you learned, then so can he.” 

Arthur shook his head at the man who’d become more of a mystery with every revelation. 

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Merlin. How you can have so much power and not even use it to defend yourself. It’s remarkable, inanely frustrating, and completely unheard of.” He cocked his head and lifted his lips in a playful smile. “If we weren’t friends, I fear we would be sworn enemies.” 

“Maybe that’s what the fates had in mind.” Merlin laughed and leaned playfully into Arthur. “You know when I first met you, I begged a dragon to find a different Arthur for me to protect. One who was less of a prat.” 

Arthur laughed heartily. “Well, when I met you, I begged my father to grant me a new servant, one who wasn’t a total idiot.” 

“I suppose we are just two sides of the same coin.” This earned Merlin a gentle nudge to the shoulder. His sudden wince caused Arthur to step away, his hands raised in immediate apology. “It’s not you. They’re getting stronger, the empaths. Their emotions, combined, are more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt. It’s overwhelming.” 

“Good.” Arthur placed a calming hand on Merlin’s shoulder, rubbing the spot he nudged. “With them, and the druids we pick up along the way, we’ll have an army unlike any Camelot has ever faced. You, Merlin, will be our secret weapon.”

Merlin grinned, his face reddening and nearly splitting with burgeoning pride. Suddenly, Arthur knew that he would usurp his father and conquer any kingdom just to see that smile again. Instead, of course, he responded in a language that only he and Merlin fully understood.

“Don’t let it go to your head. My boots will still need cleaning afterwards.” 

Merlin gave him a gentle shove. “Prat.” 

Arthur stumbled back, gripping his chest with a wide smile and feigning injury. “Idiot.” 

With one last glance at Camelot, they started down the hill towards the rest of their hunting party. This time, their prey would not be an innocent. 

“Just promise me, Arthur, that you’ll at least try to make him see reason.” 

Again, with the arguments. Two sides of the same coin, indeed. 

“I will try, for you, but only after he is powerless, unable to hurt another living soul.” Arthur sighed, gripping Merlin’s sleeve and pulling him close. “I won’t risk the alternative.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or Arthur and I'm not responsible for their angst, at least most of it. 
> 
> Author's Note: This is mostly just an angst/fluff fest prior to the coming drama. Thanks for reading and commenting. I hope you enjoy!


	5. No Matter The Cost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quest leads Arthur and his men to a druid camp. Merlin struggles to discern his own emotions from those within and discovers a new dimension to his and Arthur's connection. Arthur and the knights take it upon themselves to ensure Merlin gets the credit and the protection he deserves.

Fingernails tore through Merlin’s body from the inside out. 

They eviscerated his organs, carved into his muscles, shredded his blood vessels, and spilled his insides from an invisible gaping hole in his chest cavity. They left him breathless, seething, and uttering boneless with pain. 

All the while he bit his tongue, forcing the screams back down his throat, and hoped that Arthur and the knights wouldn’t notice the little trickle of red at his lips drawn by his own teeth. 

He understood his purpose. If he could just hold it all in, let the pain, anger, fear, sadness, and utter desperation seethe just beneath the surface, then he would become the most dangerous weapon ever to be unleashed upon King Uther Pendragon. It gave the empaths a purpose, this usurping. It gave them a target for their screams, a face to fill the void. Merlin became their living and willing hostage and he’d long committed to such a fate if it meant that Arthur’s destiny could finally come to pass.

Unite Albion. Legalize magic. End the oppression of his people. 

The knights stayed unusually quiet during the journey. Arthur rode as close as possible, casting concerned glances at Merlin at every turn. Even the horses walked carefully, as if they understood that every misstep jarred Merlin’s already fragile resolve. He gripped the reins with white knuckles and did his best to stop his teeth from chattering at the rise of a chill so icy that his exhale produced a visible cloud of moisture.

“Stop.” Arthur commanded. “Merlin?” 

The small clearing could barely hold the horses and the seven men upon them. Merlin’s newly sensitive ears picked up a water source not too far to the east. They homed in on something else too, a voice coming from without instead of within. A voice painfully familiar and filled with childish hope.

_Emrys._

Merlin’s magic responded almost reflexively.

 _Mordred._

The voice faded with a heavy hand upon his wrist. Merlin took a shaky breath and met Arthur’s pained expression.

“Come down, Merlin. I’ve got you. Gwaine?” 

Merlin shook his head, suddenly adamant. 

“No, we can’t stop. It’s not far from here. I can hear them. We have to keep going.” 

Arthur gave him that narrow-eyed pouty expression that made him look like a trout. Merlin would have said as much if he hadn’t been suddenly slammed with a surge of rigid fear the size of a boulder. He wheezed, choked, and tipped over into a pair of waiting arms. Then a firm chest welcomed him with a most gentle collision. When he finally opened his eyes again, they fell upon Arthur’s creased expression. 

“If you keep scrunching your face like that, you’ll really look like a cabbage head.” 

Arthur scoffed. Gwaine laughed somewhere to their left and then Merlin was shifted into the other knight’s arms. He found clumsy footing and leaned against his friend’s steady frame as the prince tied their horses together. 

“Got that right, Merlin.” Gwaine beamed. “Someone has to keep our majesty’s ego in check.” 

Arthur coaxed his steed to a kneeling position and then climbed on, gesturing at Gwaine. He snorted into a smile and accepted Merlin’s weight on the saddle, slinging his arm around the thin waist. When he spoke, it came as a warm breath in Merlin’s ear. 

“Yes, well at least I’m not a stubborn idiot. I told you not to ride alone.” 

Merlin leaned back into Arthur’s chest, finding a brief moment of peace in his steady heartbeat.

“You should know by now I never do as I’m told. Maybe you should try asking next time.” 

“He has a point, sire.” 

Leon’s cheeky rebuttal earned a proper snort from the prince and a smile from Merlin. Arthur’s hands came to rest lazily upon the reins and a brief “hah” brought the horse back up on all fours. The slow glide, combined with Arthur’s easy breathing, soothed his firing nerves. Merlin fought against the urge to sleep, instead focusing on Mordred’s invitation.

“Arthur, the druid camp is close. Go towards the stream. We can’t stop until we get there. I…I don’t know how long I can keep this all inside.” 

“Shh…I know the way. Just relax for now.” Merlin briefly wondered how Arthur had suddenly gained a sense of direction before exhaustion won over his curiosity. He refocused on the prince’s heartbeat, letting it wash away the emotional wounds opening beneath his skin. Then, Arthur spoke again. “Who’s Mordred?” 

Merlin nearly tore himself from Arthur’s chest, but was met with a tightening grip at his midsection. He blinked eyes wide with surprise. They entered a thick grove of trees and passed through one-by-one, Arthur and Merlin at the head. The sounds of the stream grew louder in his now-muted ears. 

“How did you know about Mordred?” 

“I don’t.” Arthur tensed, briefly, and then relaxed with a deep breath. “You said the name, just now.” 

“No, I...” He twisted his fingers in Arthur’s sleeve and swallowed something bitter. Then, too confused to pursue that thought process, Merlin gave in. “The druid boy. The one that you and Morgana rescued. He’s…” _dangerous_ “…powerful.” 

Arthur frowned against his hair. Merlin pictured those blonde eyebrows joining in the middle of his sculped forehead. “Dangerous? To us?” 

Curious, Merlin pushed himself up and leaned fully against Arthur’s sturdy form. The prince adjusted, somewhat reluctantly, to give them both room on the saddle. The close contact drowned out the foreign feelings and allowed him to focus on his own thoughts, which suddenly all involved the man flesh against his backside. 

_I don’t think so. He wants to help us._

A moment of silence passed, wherein Merlin released a tense exhale and decided that this all had to be some sort of coincidence. Then Arthur answered his unspoken thought as casually as ever. 

“Of course he wants to help us, Merlin, we’re on his side. I’m asking if I can trust him.”

Merlin swung around in search of the other knights in the shaded maze of green and brown. Lancelot rode a horse-length behind them. He sent a reassuring smile and didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss. Then Arthur cinched his arm around Merlin, forcing him to look ahead.

“Sit still, would you Merlin? It won’t do for our sorcerer to break his neck before we even get to the citadel.” Merlin sat rigid and silent, suddenly hesitant to resume their close contact. Arthur kept his arm belted around Merlin, insistent on their proximity. “I need to know about this Mordred. I need to know everything you can tell me. The time for keeping secrets is no more.”

Merlin considered this from all angles. How would Arthur react if he knew of his own new ability? Bearing witness to sorcery was one thing, suddenly becoming an agent of it was quite another. He closed his eyes and felt the invading emotions nibbling away, hungry for his mind once again. Then he gave the only answer he could, an honest one.

“Mordred is a powerful sorcerer, a druid who has every motive to bring death upon Camelot for its indiscretions. However, if we follow through on the plan, then he will have no reason to wish us harm. In effect, he would be our ally.” 

Arthur directed the horse around a tight bend. “Well until we’re sure, stay close to me.” Then a surprising addition, in a shaky drawl that Merlin had only heard from Arthur once before, landed in Merlin’s mind along with an emotion so intense that he shuttered.

 _I can’t lose you._

The desperation, almost grief, in that statement soured Merlin’s stomach and increased the pressure behind his eyes. It came on at once and overwhelmed even the emotions generated from the empaths themselves. He leaned back in an immediate desire to comfort and gripped Arthur’s arms. They tightened in response, creating a possessive embrace from behind. Merlin pushed every reassurance into his next thought, directed straight at the other side of his coin. 

_You’ll never get rid of me, you silly prat. I’m yours._

Arthur stilled. His body suddenly stiff and warm. “Merlin?” 

Just then the trees opened to a trickling stream, afternoon sunlight reflecting beautifully off the damp rocks and clear water. On the opposite brook stood an older woman, her face shadowed beneath a brown hood. Her hand hung down and joined with another, that of the druid boy. His hood rested loosely upon his back and his smile lit up his entire face. He spoke out loud, addressing Merlin, Arthur, and the knights who slowly trickled in from the tree cover. 

“Emrys. It’s so lovely to see you and your friends.” 

Merlin sat tall with his shoulders back, ready. He felt Arthur’s hand shift to his sword. 

“Mordred, we’ve come to ask for your help.” 

The boy smiled reassuringly. 

“We know and we are at your command.” He and the woman gave a subtle bow. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

……..

Night fell upon the druid camp and Arthur studied Merlin through the dancing flames of their campfire. The younger man glanced between the boy and the elders, smiling often and speaking only through his eyes. The older woman, now identified as Nia, had waved some flower around Merlin, spoken the words of the old religion, and effectively alleviated some of his pain. Temporarily, she assured, with a pointed glance at the prince.

Arthur didn’t trust it, of course. He stared holes into Merlin’s forehead, determined to figure out what was being said behind his back. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his…whomever…was too far away. It felt like losing an arm. He longed to touch him, to look into those blue eyes and figure out if what he’d heard on horseback had been more than just his imagination. 

His imagination, but in Merlin’s voice? 

The log shifted. Arthur felt Leon’s comforting hand upon his shoulder before the prudent and gentle voice interrupted his brooding. 

“I highly doubt that old woman and child are going to hurt our boy, Arthur. They seem to love him just as much as we do.” 

Arthur huffed, but allowed the friendly contact. Merlin met his eyes briefly from across the way, giving the smallest of heartening smiles before returning to his captive audience. A wave of annoyance overtook Arthur and he muttered beneath his breath. 

“Yes, well he certainly seems to be enjoying the attention.” 

Gwaine swooped in and took the log on Arthur’s other side, a plate of mush balancing between his palms. 

“Jealous, are we princess?” 

The druid boy, Mordred, shared a gentle smile with Merlin and handed him a cup. He graciously took it and sniffed the contents before indulging with a grateful smile that made Arthur’s stomach flip.

“Not likely.” Arthur snorted. “He’s still _my_ manservant…or whatever he is now.” 

“I believe Gwaine meant jealous of Merlin, sire.” Elyan lowered himself down beside Leon and exchanged a secret smile with Percival, who walked past and briefly blocked Arthur’s view of Merlin. The prince pivoted until he spotted his counterpart again, still carrying on unscathed. 

If his face reddened, he blamed it entirely on the fire. 

Gwaine chuckled into his porridge, eyes shining just above the bowl’s wooden rim.

“I think we all know what I meant, Elyan.”

Lancelot joined them with his own bowl and studied Merlin briefly with a similar intensity as Arthur. His brown eyes shined with a deeper understanding. Arthur knew at once that if he could trust anyone to defend Merlin with his own life, it would be Lancelot. 

“It’s about time somebody gave Merlin the praise he deserves. He’s saved our skins more times than we know.” 

Arthur’s sorcerer, Camelot’s sorcerer, received a quick pat on the back from an older druid man and immediately bowed his head and blushed. Arthur felt his own face flush again and he swallowed an emotion foreign to him until that moment, humility. 

Slowly, he nodded in quiet agreement and picked at the porridge in his bowl. 

“You make a good point, Lancelot. Now it’s our turn to save Merlin, no matter the cost.” 

All the prince’s men, now situated in a perfect semi-circle facing the young sorcerer, simply nodded their heads in an unspoken pact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin and the gang. I just make them engage in witty banter occasionally. 
> 
> Author's Note: Part 5 is here. Thanks for reading, leaving kudos, and especially for the comments! It's nice to hear your tboughts and to know that I'm not just putting these guys through angst just for my own amusement.


	6. They’ll Lead You and You Will Lead Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic has marked Arthur Pendragon's life from the day of his birth. Now, led by Merlin, the knights, and an army long awaiting this fateful day, he faces his past and his father in a confrontation that will kickstart a revolution and change Camelot forever.

The blonde-haired boy, slightly big for his seven years, hid behind the pillar outside his father’s chambers and watched the larger-than-life king pass through the double doors and into the hall. The usual entourage of servants and advisors surrounded him, their hands full of papers and their eyes on the floor as they spoke with shaky voices. 

Once the king turned the corner, the boy darted through the doors and attacked the royal wardrobe. He raided the shelves, chose one of the many lavish robes from the collection, and donned it over his tunic and trousers. It dragged on the floor as he marched over a pretend red carpet with his head high and his hand waving proudly to the imaginary court. He recited the chant loudly and proudly. 

“Make way for King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. Long live the king!” 

When Evan, the king’s manservant, noticed the child wrinkling his master’s clothing and dirtying the desk chair, or rather makeshift throne, with his muddy boots, he only laughed and crossed his arms. 

“Someday, once and future king. For now, you must return to your studies.”

“I don’t need to study.” Arthur threw his shoulders back. “I will just do as my father does and everyone will bow to me!”

Then Evan, a thin brown-haired man with gentle hands, knelt before his majesty and took him by the shoulders, a twinkle in his warm brown eyes.

“Yes, maybe so, but a good and just king is always willing to learn. For what he has been taught may not remain true. The world is constantly evolving, Arthur, and the king must adapt and always do what is best for all in his kingdom.”

Arthur squinted in confusion, squirmed, and picked at the robe’s hem. The thread, a bold Pendragon red, grew loose under his administrations. 

“If what I’m taught is not true…” He spoke to the fabric, worrying his lip. “…then how am I to know what is best?” 

Evan gently stilled the boy’s restless hands and gave a careful smile when he raised his eyes.

“People will come into your life and they will show you the way. You will recognize them when you meet because they will challenge you and everything that you know. That may be difficult to cope with at first, but those people, those friends, they’ll lead you and you will lead them.” 

Arthur pouted and violently shrugged his shoulders within the massive fabric, suddenly feeling its enormous weight. 

“Help me off with this, Evan. I’m finished with playing king for today.” When the servant only raised his expectant eyebrows, Arthur rolled his eyes. “Please…”

“That’s better.” Evan chuckled and lifted the robe, freeing the boy. “Now report to the library, young Pendragon, your tutor is waiting.”

……..

The horses halted at Camelot’s border and peered down at the kingdom, as if gifting their riders one last moment of peace. The prince, three of his knights, and the servant turned sorcerer observed the sight in companionable silence. The late evening light cascaded over rough stone and painted the entire kingdom red, save for the overpowering shadow cast by the citadel. It expanded over the lower town like an angry god seeking to punish any and all who defied its ways. Those who passed through the shadow shivered and immediately sought out the promise of warmth on the other side.

“I’ve taken in this view hundreds of times. Now, it looks so unfamiliar and hostile.”

Arthur sighed and tightened his grip on Merlin. The sorcerer leaned forward in his grasp, feigning interested in the bustling town. He’d been suspiciously quiet since they’d left the druids, only allowing Arthur close enough to quell his rising emotions and strictly avoiding the prince’s persistent gaze. 

It all made Arthur’s stomach drop, especially considering the intensity of Merlin’s words to him, which he’d decided could not have been his imagination. They had bigger worries than his growing desire for the servant, of course, but that jaw dropping declaration hung there like a loose thread just waiting to be pulled. 

A horse stepped up beside Arthur, a smiling Gwaine upon its back. The knight flipped his hair and targeted Merlin with sparkling eyes full of equal parts jest and fondness. It made Arthur squirm uncomfortably in his saddle and pull Merlin just a bit closer. 

“Enough with the poetry, princess. It’s my turn to cuddle our boy.” 

Merlin scoffed. He faced Gwaine with a daring smile. Leon and Lancelot sat back with squared shoulders and smirked in their direction. Arthur let out a barking laugh.

 _“Hold on._ Cuddling?” Arthur gaped at the shocking declaration. “I never agreed to such terms.” 

Merlin relaxed and flashed a wide grin from Arthur to Gwaine. “Don’t suppose I get a say in all of this then?” 

“Hardly!” Arthur teased, briefly squeezing Merlin’s waist in jest. 

“A plan’s a plan, Merlin.” Gwaine nodded affirmatively. Leon let out a muted chuckle and Lancelot peered at the ground with a quiet humored smile.

“Right then.” Merlin faced forward and briefly brushed his hand over Arthur’s tightly clenched fist. A rush of reassurance relaxed the tense grip and Merlin whispered a calming message.

_It’s okay, Arthur. We’ll meet again. It’s our destiny._

Arthur gasped, suddenly unsteady from the overwhelming love accompanying those words. Then Merlin slowly extracted himself. He held firmly to the saddle and lowered his shaking body down with difficulty. The prince regained his composure in time to grasp Merlin’s jacket and give him a controlled fall to the ground. Then he watched, captivated, as Merlin gripped the prince’s still-saddled boot to steady himself and faced him for the first time in hours.

“We’ll stick to the plan. I’ll gather the witch, Gaius, and the sorcerers in Camelot. Elyan and Percival will arrive soon with the druids. Then we’ll wait for your signal, _my lord._ ” 

That last bit, said with the utmost sincerity for once, conveyed more whole-hearted faithfulness than the prince could dare demand. 

Arthur exhaled a shaky breath. He jumped down from his horse, holding the reins close, and approached Merlin cautiously. He reached for the sorcerer’s hand. Merlin winced and pulled away, leaving only his jacket sleeve in Arthur’s grasp. He took what he could, for now, and vowed to figure out the reason for this sudden avoidance. 

“You’re sure this witch will be receptive? You won’t be able to defend yourself, Merlin. You can’t unleash any of your power until…”

“I know.” He interrupted with a slight nod. “She will, Arthur. I’m sure of it. She’s the only one with the ability to assure them of their safety, their future. Together we will rally them all.” 

Arthur swallowed. He didn’t like this idea of them separating, not at all. However, he couldn’t have Merlin beside him when he spoke to his father. He couldn’t risk anything happening to this man. Just seeing how he’d put his mind and body at stake for this plan alerted all of Arthur’s protective instincts, instincts that had grown even stronger in the passing days. 

Finally, he let go and gave Merlin a foot-length of space.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me her name.” 

Merlin bit his lip and then, hesitantly, he reached for Arthur’s sleeves. He entwined his fingers into the material and avoided the prince’s attempt to unite their hands. Merlin averted his eyes in the way that he typically did when he had a secret. Arthur needed to touch him, desperately wanted to know what troubled the sorcerer, but Merlin’s actions clearly withheld consent for such contact. 

“I made a promise to shield her from your father. When she agrees, then I will reveal her name. Until then, I have to protect her, just as I must protect all of _us_ who hold such power.” 

Merlin met his eyes pointedly, as if searching for some sort of recognition. Arthur placed a hand on the back of Melin's head and joined their foreheads. He filled his eyes with all of the affection he could muster for this skinny, brave, idiotic man.

“Be careful, _you idiot._ Don’t leave Gwaine and Lancelot for any reason. This will all be over soon, one way or another, and I will need my manservant in one piece at the end.” 

“Of course.” Merlin stepped back and reverted to his relaxed self. “Who else would wash your disgusting socks, you prat.” 

Gwaine dismounted and helped him aboard, pointedly ignoring the glare that Arthur sent him when he briefly, entirely necessarily, boosted Merlin’s bottom up. Then, with a single nod from the strongest of knights, they trotted off in the direction of the lower town. Lancelot followed behind and shared a single reassuring promise.

“We’ll protect him, Arthur, with our lives.” 

Arthur simply nodded. He caught Merlin’s eyes one last time, where he found all the encouragement that he needed to face his father. He turned to the remaining knight and sighed.

“It’s a fine night to commit treason, wouldn’t you say Leon?”

“Aye, my lord.” He rode up beside Arthur and looked up. “The stars will surely shine brighter for our victory.” 

“That’s some fine poetry. Too bad Gwaine missed it.” Leon chuckled and Arthur gave a half smirk. “Come, old friend. It’s time to go home.”

……..

Arthur first witnessed magic at the tender age of ten. 

He walked into his father’s chambers, searching for his missing practice sword, and found Evan standing beside the bed with one hand in the air. Eyes closed, the servant muttered some words that Arthur did not recognize and, suddenly, every candle in the room ignited at once. 

Arthur gasped. Evan turned, his eyes wide and so very gold. 

“Arthur, oh! Are you alright?” He rushed towards the boy. Arthur scrambled back until he hit the far wall. “Arthur? Please, I mean you no harm.” 

“Evan…” Arthur muttered, his heart pounding with fear. “You used magic! You are a sorcerer!” 

Arthur’s shouts reached the hall, causing a panic amongst a group of passing servants. Evan stopped, his hands raised in surrender, and nodded. “Yes, Arthur. I did use magic. I am a sorcerer, but I would never hurt you or anyone in this kingdom. You must believe me.” 

“All sorcerers are bad. Father says so.” Arthur shook his head repeatedly, his nails digging into the wall behind. He wrestled between anger and fear, settling for a mix of the two. “Please, don’t kill me. If you try to kill me, I will stab you in the heart. I will!”

Evan approached, falling to his knees in front of the boy. 

“I will never harm you, Arthur, and if you wish to harm me, then I will not stop you.”

The commotion continued just outside of the open door, Arthur saw the fear in Evan’s eyes, the unshed tears. How could a sorcerer, a monster, feel such emotions? Why would one ever kneel to a prince? Evan still looked like Evan, like his friend. Even his eyes had returned to their familiar brown. 

“I don’t understand. Why haven’t you killed me?”

“Not all who use magic use it for evil, Arthur. Just as there are good men and bad men, there are good sorcerers and bad. Many of us, such as me, just want to help.” He paused, dragging his gaze over Arthur carefully, and then sat back to give him space. “I understand how confusing this must be for you. So, when your father arrives, you must tell him the truth.” 

The full impact of that statement hit Arthur like a mace to the chest. 

“No, he’ll kill you.” Then he rushed forward and threw his arms around his friend and mentor. “You’re my friend. Please don’t die. I’ll tell my father I made it up.” 

“Oh, Arthur.” Those familiar arms squeezed him so tightly. “You know how your father feels about lying. I will not allow him to hurt you again on my account.” Evan pulled away, meeting Arthur’s tear-stained eyes and smoothing his blonde fringe down. “There is something special inside of you, young Pendragon, and it will make you the greatest king Camelot has ever known. It has been my absolute honor to serve you.” 

The guards charged into the room and gripped Evan from behind. He gave no resistance. They lifted him up by his arms and dragged him out of the room, leaving Arthur sobbing on the floor.

Arthur lied, told his father that he’d been mistaken. Evan confessed to using magic and claimed that he enchanted Arthur, forcing him to lie in order to hide his crime. 

The next day, Evan was executed. It marked the first time that Arthur cried in public.

“No man is worth your tears, son. Especially a sorcerer.” 

It would also be the last time.

……..

The evening sunlight had abandoned the inner corridor leading into The Great Hall. The flaming torches left only shadows that played tricks on Arthur’s mind, creating monsters along the walls and ghosts in the corners of his eyes. Every footstep echoed a reminder that he could not turn back, would not.

No matter the outcome, Merlin would be safe at the end of this night.

Arthur dismissed the guards along the way and sent them all to Lancelot with an order to follow the knight’s every command. The path diverged and he took the right turn straight into the mouth of the beast. Leaving Leon at the entrance with an understanding nod, he pushed the grand doors opened with a resounding creak and found the hall dark and nearly empty. Uther sat on the far end of the long table and hardly looked up at Arthur’s entrance.

“Father.”

“Arthur, you’re back. The guards didn’t announce your return.” He rose from his chair, groaning a bit at the exertion, and took halting steps towards his son. The twist of his lips into a thin smile stirred Arthur’s anger. “Well where is my moose? It will finish off the room quite nicely.” 

Arthur stopped a man’s length from the person who’d brought him into the world and gripped tightly to the handle of his sword. He bit his tongue to level out his voice.

“Roaming free in the woods, I imagine. It proved quite an outstanding opponent in the end.” 

Uther’s face collapsed into a creased scowl. He sighed heavily and about-faced, pacing angrily.

“Do not tell me that my son, the prince of Camelot, was bested by a mere moose. That is unacceptable, Arthur!” 

Arthur laughed, actually laughed. He’d witnessed his father’s anger many times since his birth. Most often it involved sorcery, but all manner of things pushed him to such extremes. Though it had once frightened Arthur, now he could only shake his head at the inconsequentiality of it all. 

“Oh, you find this funny?” Uther’s face grew red to match his cloak. “You were gone for four days, Arthur. What have you been doing all of this time? Playing with your knights? I warned you not to appoint your friends to such a position.” 

Uther reached the table and leaned upon the surface with shaky arms. His head dipped, casting a shadow over the throne. Arthur recognized himself in that pose and it only served to feed his growing anger.

“My _friends.”_ Arthur swallowed a sudden bitterness and took the offensive. “My friends, father, are quite adept and accomplished knights. I trust no one more with my life. They’ve shown me a better way.”

“A better way?” Uther raised a pointed glare. “What better way do you speak of? Certainly not better than my way. I did not raise you to go against your king.” 

“No, father.” Arthur stood tall. His nostrils flared. “You raised me to hate. To kill. To look down upon those who are different. Thankfully, I’ve learned better from those who believed in me, believed that I could be better than you.” He stepped forward, his anger spilling out at his seams. “Those who you would watch burn with a smile because they dare to be born differently.” 

Uther’s eyes rimmed red with anger. A hand slammed down upon the wood, creating a boom that echoed throughout the massive room. Arthur didn’t budge, hardly even acknowledged the outburst, and curled his lips further into a snarl.

“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” Uther stood and approached, stopping in breathing distance of Arthur. “This is that servant boy’s influence, isn’t it? His treasonous ways cannot be tolerated any longer. I’ll have…”

Arthur withdrew his sword from its sheath and placed it skillfully and steadily at his father’s throat. 

“Finish that sentence, and I will bleed you dry where you stand.” 

Uther barely breathed, his brow glistening with sweat and his eyes widened with outrage. Unarmed, except for this wrathful voice, the king had little choice but to comply. Arthur inhaled and sensed the beat of the old man’s heart just beneath the thin skin. One flinch and it could all be over. His muscles itched, begged to put the man out. 

That wasn’t Merlin’s plan, though, and Arthur had made a promise to his best friend.

“Don’t bother calling for the guards. They’ve been reassigned. At this very moment they are helping _my_ army seize control of Camelot. If you concede to a peaceful transition, then no harm will come to you and those who resist. If you attempt or order harm to me or any of my people, then I will kill you without hesitation.” 

Arthur didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. Ever a seasoned warrior, he focused only on his sword and the man beneath its tip. 

“Arthur…why?” Uther started. The utterance shifted his neck just enough to scrape his skin against the blade. A slow trickle of blood dotted the pale flesh and quickly silenced the man. 

“Uther Pendragon, you sentenced hundreds of innocent men, women, and children to death under the guise of charity and buried them unmarked. You burned and beheaded hundreds more in this very square. You have committed crimes against humanity. Today, you will answer for those crimes. Your punishment will depend entirely on your response to the events that unfold on this night.” 

The curtain billowed through the balcony’s opened door, the warm wind strong and determined. It carried sounds of revolt, disorder, all indicators of change and growth. Darkness expanded like a comforting embrace upon a kingdom that would soon be alight with a force more powerful than any Arthur could ever dream of wielding himself. 

That role went to his army, commanded by the bravest servant boy he’d ever known. 

No matter what transpired, nothing would be the same come morning light. 

Arthur thought of Merlin’s words as he forced Uther back into a chair. 

_We need to show him, teach him. If you learned, then so can he.”_

“Sit down, father. We have much to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, other than Evan I suppose. 
> 
> Author's Note: Six is up. Thanks for sticking with me! I appreciate all the reads, kudos, and comments. I know it's been a slow burn, but we're heading into the exciting part now.


	7. Only One of Us Will Get Out of This Room Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur confronts his father, learns the truth about his mother, and comes to a startling realization about himself. Gaius takes up the cause for his surrogate son and the witch is revealed along with a gift that could save the lives of both Merlin and Arthur.

They carried their fire above their heads.

An invisible pillar of magic supported the flames that emanated from within each individual sorcerer, druid, witch, and warlock. They lit up the sky surrounding Camelot in a peaceful blue, potent magic devouring the menacing red from the blaze and ending its murderous reign. Each person alone posed no real threat. They wore rags, stunk of sweat from their days laboring in the fields, and casted with fingers calloused and cracked from cleaning up the messes of those above. Their skin and bones hardly rivaled the trained physiques of Camelot’s soldiers, two of which led the march alongside a boy and and older woman with their heads high and their swords sheathed. 

Together, though, they formed an army of warriors with no need for weapons. 

Together, they possessed the power to change the world.

……..

The lower town passed Merlin by in torturous slow motion.

His weakening body sagged under Gwaine’s protective grip while his mind processed emotions and physical sensations at a speed not possible for any ordinary man. Merlin’s face burned from the constant onslaught of tears, now forming within his lids and releasing soundlessly down his cheeks like water from a dam about to burst. His fists clenched in anger and simultaneously shook with fear. Lumps appeared in his throat faster than he could swallow, threatening to choke him with their thickness, and an uneasiness invaded his stomach. 

These emotions did not belong to Merlin, though. Merlin felt determined, ready, stronger than ever in his life with Arthur in his corner. 

They made their way through the town, the mission simple. Merlin’s magic burned bright as a torch under this onslaught of power. It attracted all who shared his gift. Those who lingered upon his crumbling form, those who grew tense and hopeful in their golden eyes as he passed, understood. They’d no need for words. One glance from Merlin told them all they had to know.

_Prepare yourself. Tonight, beneath the citadel, it all ends._

It would not be enough to convince them all, of course. A failure to overthrow the king meant certain death. Most sorcerers residing in Camelot had created an entire life in the shadows. Merlin understood. He, too, shoved his gift into the darkest corners to accommodate a life with good friends, a father-figure, and a prince who he just so happened to love. He’d never expected to have so much to lose, so much more than even his own life. 

He could only hope that the witch’s place in the royal court would assure those still too afraid to stand. 

Merlin’s legs collapsed under the weight of a sudden and overwhelming spasm of terror. It paralyzed his entire body at once. An icy chill whipped him into submission. Eyes wide, he nearly hit the ground. Lancelot caught him and Gwaine lifted him back to his feet with strong and possessive hands.

“Merlin?” Lancelot’s voice shook with worry and a silent question. The servant turned sorcerer found his most sincere smile beneath the weight of emotion and did his best to hide the quiver in his voice. 

“We all know I’ve faced worse than a bit of a tumble. Putting up with Arthur on his grumpy days for one.” He briefly met their eyes, noting Gwaine’s exaggerated frown, and held steady on his feet just long enough. “I’m fine.”

He was not fine. Not at all fine. That didn’t change a thing, though. For even if he fell, the birth of Albion gave his death a purpose and his life a victory. 

Gwen approached from their left, a bucket of water hanging from her fingers. Her face collapsed in a slurry of worry and fear. She dropped the bucket and moved cool hands over Merlin’s sweaty face as he practically hung from the knights’ strong arms.

“Oh dear, what’s happened? Are you ill?” Her palm lingered on his forehead. “You’re running a fever, Merlin. Oh, we must get you to Gaius.” 

“It’ll be okay, Gwen.” Merlin squeezed her arm kindly. “Though yes, I would very much like to see Gaius.”

……..

Arthur’s sword arm never wavered.

It held firm against Uther’s pounding artery and licked up the blood spilled in his one paltry attempt at escaping. The wound would hardly prove fatal, just a pinch of Gaius’ salve should heal it quickly enough. 

The wounds opened in that trench, still soaked with innocent blood, would not close so easily. 

“Tell me about the empaths, father. What went through your mind when you ordered your knights to put their swords to the throats of innocent children? When you drew their blood? When you dropped them in a trench to die gasping?” 

He spoke from above Uther, refusing to sit and bring himself down to the man’s level. The foot traffic outside grew louder, hurried. That told him Merlin had made it through the town. It eased Arthur’s concern just enough for him to truly focus on his role.

Uther did not stir from his seat. Ropes fixed his wrists to the armrests, Leon’s contribution following the escape attempt. Finally, the king accepted that fleeing held little point and instead aimed a cutting glare at his child. 

“Sorcerers are not children, Arthur. They are not human, and they certainly are not innocent. You’ve known this since you were a boy and I refuse to abide this foolish act of rebellion. Release me at once and I will go easy on you.” 

Arthur dragged his sword down to Uther’s chest, resting the tip over his cold heart. Pressing ever so slightly into the soft fabric.

“I’m not interested in the leniency of a man who hunts innocent people like animals!” 

Uther’s face paled. His mouth hung agape. Shaking with rage, Arthur turned, walked a circle, and regained his breath. His anger threatened to ruin everything. He heard Merlin in his head, asking him to reason, to try. He gazed briefly out the window at the gathering crowd and reminded himself that their fates now rested in his ability to remain levelheaded. Swallowing his pride, he did just that. 

“What happened to you, father? What drives a man to such hate? You taught me so much when I was a boy. You were my hero. I didn’t just want to be like you, I wanted to _be_ you. The great Uther Pendragon, king of Camelot.” He paused and mumbled something beneath his breath. “Long live the king.”

“You can still be like me, son.” Arthur recognized that tone. The warmth, the endearment, it lured him to sleep every night. He also recognized the edge of manipulation just beneath, the implied threat if he dared defy. “Let me go. We’ll fight those monsters together and then you will rule, by my side. How proud I will be of my boy.” 

The words struck Arthur like a knife to the heart. His stomach dropped and he thought he might vomit. It was the one declaration he’d longed to hear from his father throughout his life and the conditions were so that he could never accept it. If it took betraying his friends, condoning the killing of innocents, to earn his father’s pride, then he would have to live the rest of his days without. 

“Monsters.” He cut his tongue on the edge of that word and turned back to Uther with slit eyes. “Do you know that one of those _monsters_ saved my life? Not just once, too many times. He poisoned himself for me, walked willingly into battles meant to kill us both just to protect me. He and those like him have shown me more compassion, more patience, than anyone I’ve ever known including my own family. I can’t think of anything more _human._ ” 

“Leon! Guard!” Uther struggled against his restraints. His face reddened. His nostrils flared. “Listen to me, Arthur. You’ve been enchanted. This sorcerer has gained unnatural influence over you in order to turn you against me and destroy Camelot.”

The image of Merlin concocting such a malicious scheme made Arthur snort. The man had the power to overthrow an entire army with his pinkie and yet he couldn’t stomach shooting a rabbit for dinner. A calming realization dawned, warming him and planting the smallest seed of hope.

“You know, I have learned an important lesson from your reign.” He leveled his father’s gaze with a subtle smile and approached. “I’ve witnessed war, destruction, and violence at your hands and those of the surrounding kingdoms. It kills only the innocent and solves nothing. There is a better way, father.” 

“Arthur…” Uther spoke through clenched teeth. 

“My army, my sorcerers, many of them are honest and devoted residents of Camelot. It’s their home, my home. They do not want war. They are seeking peace. They want their home to be a safe place for them to be themselves, a place where they may practice righteous magic that would help and protect the kingdom. I propose we give it to them.” Arthur approached and pointed his sword down in a gesture of submission. “They saved my life, father. Why can you not give them a chance?” 

Uther leaned forward in the chair, his breath heavy and strained. The angles of his face sharpened, and his lips curved into a snarl to form the words that shot out of his mouth as forcefully as bolts.

“Because sorcery killed your mother!”

……..

“Oh, my boy.”

Gwaine and Lancelot lowered Merlin onto the cot, only releasing their hold after the shivering and deathly pale sorcerer gave a quiet nod. Then they moved back and let the physician do his work. Crooked, wrinkled hands worked their way over Merlin’s head and down his neck and chest, searching for any signs of a wound. 

“You are far too warm, Merlin. What happened? Were you injured or did you fall ill?”

Merlin smiled at his surrogate father’s administrations. He often thought this man’s hands contained more skill than his own. Gaius could diagnose with a touch, cure with the crook of his thumb, and soothe with the humble imparting of knowledge. He’d have been lost without the older man’s guidance and love. 

“No, Gaius.” He met those kind eyes pointedly and subtly nodded to the woman currently gnawing on her lip. 

Gaius understood. “Guinevere, would you mind fetching a basin of fresh cool water? I’ll need to mop his brow.”

“Oh, of course. Anything I can do to help.” She hurried from the room, leaving two awkwardly hovering knights and a confused physician. Merlin immediately gripped Gaius’ arms, met his concerned stare, and threw all the sincerity he could into his next words.

“Gaius, I’m not ill. On the hunt, I fell into a trench, but not just a trench. There were bodies, souls, people of magic who call themselves empaths. I’ve somehow taken on their magic. I can hear them, Gaius, feel everything that they felt when Uther murdered them.” He paused only to catch his breath. “Arthur saved me. He knows everything and he’s going to help us.” He raised red-rimmed eyes to the waiting knights and then returned his attention to Gaius’ roaming eyebrow. “It’s happening, just like the dragon said. Arthur is with his father now. The druids are here and the sorcerers, well I feel that they’re close.” 

Gaius took a breath and then a seat on the cot just beside Merlin. His healing hand landed upon Merlin’s arm, rubbing comforting circles. Merlin leaned into the fatherly touch. 

“I knew of the empaths, some of them I called friends. They were a peaceful people, the forefathers of magic. They birthed sorcery as you and I know it today.” Gaius’s face melted. “What was done to them, well, it is a stain on Camelot’s history that I fear could never be erased, not even at Arthur’s insistence or Uther’s demise.” 

Merlin’s throat burned. His chest ached. He swallowed a metallic taste and forced a hoarse reply.

“They chose us, Gaius. Arthur and I. I can’t explain it, we just knew what had to be done. They need us to make peace not just for them, but for all those with magic.” Merlin’s stomach clenched. An urge to gag came and went with Gaius’ warm touch. “We have to try. It will never be enough, but we still must try.” 

Gaius’ eyes wandered up to Lancelot and Gwaine. The pair looked on as if awaiting their next order. “Arthur has tasked you two fine men with taking care of my boy, I see?” 

Gwaine gave a brief but wide smile and a subtle bow. Lancelot threw his shoulders back in his most noble knight pose and spoke sincerely. 

“Merlin is special. We owe him a great debt. The knights of the round table are happily and loyally at Merlin and Arthur’s command.” He paused and gave a subtle smile. Gwaine spoke next.

“Our gratitude also goes to you, Gaius, for giving our boy a home in Camelot and protecting him until he rounded us up.” 

The physician grinned from ear to ear, a blush creeping up his neck. Merlin’s whole body warmed at the rightful acknowledgment to a man who rarely received such concessions.

“No, thank _you_ young men. I could not ask for anyone braver or more chivalrous to watch over Merlin. Our kind, we do not often meet such benevolence.” 

Merlin put his arms around the old man, pulling him into a tight embrace. Tears fell down his cheeks once again, this time entirely his own. They shared a long moment before Gaius spoke into Merlin’s ear with tenderness and renewed conviction.

“What can I do to help, my boy?” 

“I need to speak to Morgana, privately. She’ll be quite worried by now.” He pulled back, hastily rubbed his cheeks, and reached into his pocket. “Gaius, can you make a potion from this flower?” 

A long thorny stem emerged from Merlin’s pocket. Fluffy white petals covered the stick and gave it the illusion of a soft and comforting texture. They absorbed the surrounding candlelight and then reflected it back, producing a light source nearly all their own. Gaius took the flower and met Merlin’s eyes with complete understanding. 

“I will prepare it at once.”

……..

“Lies!”

Arthur’s entire body firmed and readied for a kill. Blood engorged his muscles and the rabid beating of his pulse filled his ears. Every sound other than his heartbeat and that of the one before him faded away. The room narrowed to contain only the prince, the king, and the sword between them. 

Every instinct told Arthur to strike a deathblow. 

“Arthur, if you won’t listen to your king, then you _will_ listen to your father.” 

“No!” He traced the blade over Uther’s frail skin. “I’ve listened and obeyed enough. Now I’m acting in the name of all that is right and just.” 

Uther’s wrists fought against their restraints, causing the chair to wobble loudly against the stone floor. The racket echoed through the Great Hall and alerted Leon, who peeked inside and then immediately retreated to his post at the shake of Arthur’s head. Finally, the king stilled. He coughed, fell limp in the chair, and tightly closed his eyes. 

Arthur remained eerily still and at the ready, barely even breathing. His eyes burned with the anger coursing through his body. He’d watched his father his entire life both in sword and word play. He knew better than to believe this act of defeat. 

Eyes closed, head down, Uther lunged. 

“Igraine, your mother, she couldn’t conceive.” 

Arthur parried. 

“Wipe my mother’s name from your mouth, you tyrant!”

Uther blocked, and then lunged again. 

“She so badly wanted to give me an heir. It destroyed her. It tore me apart to see her so heartbroken. So, I did the unthinkable. I called upon a sorcerer to bring about her pregnancy. That sorcerer killed my wife and cursed my child to suffer the sin of magic!” 

That blow landed. Arthur inhaled sharply. He faltered, lost his breath, and retreated. Arms perched upon the table, he recalled dreams of the beautiful blonde woman sitting in a garden. No, not dreams, memories. The memories he’d formed since his childhood, while deep in slumber. She graced him nightly with loving smiles, thoughtful explanations of the world, and a constant reassurance of her unconditional love. His mother spoke her acceptance of Arthur as a boy blessed with a gift that had to remain unopened, for his own safety, until this crucial night. A gift hidden deep within himself where even his own eyes could not see. 

A gift that had become all too apparent in the previous days with Merlin, _his_ Merlin, curled within his arms.

Arthur had not just been born of magic, he _was_ magic. 

Arthur buried his face in his hands and screamed for his mother, for the empaths, and for Merlin whose suffering he suddenly felt with every single breath. His hands warmed first. Then a golden glow spread throughout his body, making the air around him sizzle and pop. Every nerve awakened. His heartbeat gained an extra thump. Suddenly, or finally, his skin fit him perfectly. It all unraveled right there in front of the one man who would put anyone else to death for the same gift. 

Arthur raised his head, eyes angry slits of gold, and parried into a lunge that landed just over Uther’s heart.

“It was you who killed my mother. You used magic as your blade and your scapegoat, because you couldn’t face your own mistakes.” He pressed his sword, producing a red stain on the white robe. “Magic isn’t a thing to be manipulated for your fancy, father, it’s a way of being. Those people who you dumped in that pit could not _be_ any different. They couldn’t bow to your orders even on threat of death. You hated that, didn’t you? Is that why you hate me?”

“Arthur wait…” Uther stared at the blade against his chest and the golden man at its hilt.

“No, I won’t wait any longer. I _am_ magic, father. So, it seems that only one of us will get out of this room alive.”

……..

Morgana waited for them in the open doorway of her chambers, her purple dress billowing around her beautifully. The witch sent the kindest smile to her fellow warlock as he passed through the threshold and into the privacy of her room. Worry clouded her face as Lancelot and Gwaine helped a clearly struggling Merlin along. He hung limply from their arms. His feet mimed walking but did not entirely succeed at the execution, producing more of a laborous drag. The knights set him down gingerly in a cushioned chair and Morgana took the neighboring seat. She touched his arm and then jumped back at once.

“Emrys, you’re glowing.” 

“Hello to you too, Morgana.” 

Merlin spoke the words with a pained smile. Morgana gasped and reached out again, this time touching his cheek with a finger that felt so cold in comparison. He drew back and she frowned.

“Oh, sorry.” 

Merlin ignored her plea, instead taking her hands in his and pouring all of his familial love from within.

“Do you understand what’s happening outside?” 

“Yes. Mordred spoke to me when he arrived.” She nodded, her eyes growing wet. “It’s so beautiful, Emrys. The feeling of them all here and now. The love that they emit within that beautiful blue glow, it’s intoxicating. It’s exactly as I dreamed so many times. I’ve been waiting for you so that we can meet them together.” 

Merlin understood. His magic longed to join with its kin. That cloud of harmonious energy and immense power called to him and pulled him towards the square. He still had a battle to fight, though, and a prince to protect. 

“They need _you,_ Morgana. They need you to stand for them. Stand against Uther.” He winced, the magic inside recoiling at the very mention of the name. “They’ll be brave if they see you on their side, a woman of the court.” 

A wave of powerful emotion hit him at once and he grabbed his stomach in agony. It vacillated between fear, anger, and confusion and held a familiar signature, one that immediately dorfed any other emotions within. He recognized it as he would the face, voice, or touch of the man he loved.

_Arthur? What's happening?_

The blinding combination came through again with intensity. Merlin’s face contorted and he fell back into the chair. Gwaine rushed to his aid at once, kneeling at his side and gripping his hand. Lancelot took a chalice of water from the table and brought it to Merlin’s lips. He knocked it away, instead turning his focus back to Morgana.

“It’s Arthur. He’s special Morgana. Like us, except he hasn’t figured it out yet. If he comes to himself in a room with his father…it could kill him.” 

“Arthur is confronting Uther? Then, you must go to him at once.” Morgana covered her mouth with a shaky palm, her face pale and concerned. Standing, she retrieved a bracelet from her wardrobe and placed it in Merlin’s palm, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Take this, it will give you enough strength to continue on. Mordred can handle the army and I’ll reassure Camelot's sorcerers. We’ll be ready.” 

She looked to the knights, eyes blazing in a radiant gold.

“My brother’s in danger. Please, hurry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Same story, don't own any of them. Etc.
> 
> Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I'm trying to get these out quickly because I hate leaving you all in suspense! However, I'm also an extremely picky writer, so it takes me at least a few days to get each chapter to meet my standards. Thanks for your patience!


	8. Tonight, Beneath the Citadel, It All Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation between Arthur and Uther reaches a violent end, Merlin unleashes his borrowed magic at the risk of his own life, and the witch pulls all of Camelot together with the promise of a new beginning.

Blue flames lit the entirety of Camelot, rivaling the stars for their beauty. 

Those who crafted the torches held them high and proud. Among them stood a boy with eyes to match the surrounding light and hair as dark as the night. He stepped aside at the reveal of a witch with porcelain skin and eyes a sparkling gold. She emerged from the mouth of the castle in a billowing gown and parted the crowd with every delicate step. Silently, and with a smile warm and true, she walked with her shoulders back and her hands cupped at her breast. Within her grasp burned a blue circle of energy. It sparked and spun with electrifying strikes. As she walked, it grew. It filled her open palms and continued to spread further until she reached the very center of the crowd. Then she raised her hands, spoke the words of the old religion, and lit her eyes. 

The ball of light ascended and expanded, not stopping until it rivaled the castle’s highest tower. It carried a single hopeful message.

_Don’t be afraid. Tonight, beneath the citadel, it all begins._

Hundreds of eyes ignited at once. They shone even in the darkest of shadows and behind curtains parted just enough. They glowed beneath nasal helmets, silken gowns, and red capes crested with yellow dragons. 

Then they joined their brethren in a sea of blue and gold.

……..

Arthur’s sword laid to rest in the center of the grand table.

The blood-stained blade reflected the sapphire glow from outside, casting it further into a room blanketed in darkness. Only the single torch burning in the far corner combatted the black along with the two golden eyes of the prince directed unwaveringly at the king. 

Uther’s pale skin painted him like a ghost in the night. His muscles tensed and his breath came in short pants between snarled lips. Arthur perched on a chair, his body leaned wearily to the right and his head rested stiff and careless all at once upon a tight fist. The muscles of his jaw tensed and relaxed while the fingers of his left hand drummed upon the armrest, creating sparks with every impact. 

He never blinked. 

“Son, you can still fight this evil. This can all be undone.” 

Arthur sighed into his clenched fingers.

“I’m tired of fighting, both with you and for you.” He traced a finger over the curvature of the armrest, scraping it with his nail and unintentionally sparking the wood. He put it out with an annoyed puff. “There is no undoing who I have been from the moment of my birth. My mother understood. She did her best to prepare me for the day when I’d have to face my father, my nemesis.” 

Uther squirmed briskly against the ropes. The chair scooted and released a resounding creak against the hollow walls. With a sigh, he relaxed again. 

“It does not have to end this way.” The king’s eyes scanned the room. Arthur squinted and lit a candle in the far corner. It wobbled, falling out of the candelabra and extinguishing against the cold stone floor. “Arthur, all _I’ve_ done is to prepare you for this day. To instill within you the discipline and the honor of a knight and nobleman. To make you understand the ways that magic will corrupt you, if you surrender to its power.” 

Arthur scoffed. Uther flexed his fingers with a frustrated grunt.

“You think magic is about power?” He twisted in the chair, briefly allowed his fiery gaze to droop, and then stiffened back to full alert. “I know no one more powerful than you, father, and you wield it every chance you get from the comfort of your throne. You’ve personally seen to it that those with magic possess no power in this land.” 

Uther stilled, studying his son from beneath heavy lids. He made that face, the one he always wore when he decided that he knew better than anyone else. Arthur looked away in disgust.

“Yes, and in doing so I’ve protected the people of Camelot. You’d do well to learn the history of _your_ army, Arthur.” 

“I have.” Arthur fought a pout, swallowing a sudden rise of bile. “I dug up their bones with my own hands, held the man I love while he choked on their blood, broke bread with the children of those you murdered. Walk in their tracks, father. You taught me that on my very first hunt. I guess I learned something valuable from you, after all.” 

“I will not abide a son who is a sorcerer, or who loves one, not now or ever.” He spit through clenched teeth. “If you are to kill me, then be a man and finish the job.”

Arthur leaned forward, arms forming triangles against the armrests, and raised his haunches. 

_“Warlock,_ father. The most powerful one in the world. He’s also one of the bravest and humblest men I’ve ever met and, if he so agrees, then he will rule Camelot beside me.”

Uther’s head dropped. His body lagged within the restraints and he faced the floor like a man awaiting a guillotine. Arthur chewed grievously on the rinds of his inevitable choice and jolted out of his chair, making a beeline straight for the balcony. His people had amassed in numbers by which he could never have imagined. The druids stood beside the sorcerers, the peasants alongside the wealthy, the servants flanked the very knights with whom Arthur had defended, laughed, and suffered. 

All of their eyes shone in the same brilliant gold as their prince.

Within them he spotted a familiar face. The one he’d come to know as his sister. She walked through the crowd wielding a spanning light so majestic and brilliant that it drew him in directly, along with every other person of magic in the great blue circle. Her face settled in compassion and confidence. Her body took command and reassured all that a new world would arrive with the rising sun.

The witch.

A slow understanding smile grew upon Arthur’s face.

The shared magic of his brothers and sisters came through in a warm breeze and fed him air so fresh, pure, and loving that he could not help but maintain that smile. He’d known brotherhood with his fellow knights, but never such intense kinship. He felt their heartfelt support, belief, and protectiveness with his body and soul. As if in answer to this recognition, Arthur’s power woke and enveloped him in a shielding hug. His fingers sparked a brilliant blue flame that pulled him towards his people and away from his former hero. 

The man he would kill in order to keep them safe. 

Arthur closed his eyes searched for Merlin’s soothing presence, his final reassurance. Then the clang of metal against wood broke the spell. 

Arthur about-faced just in time to see his former hero holding his sword at the ready.

……..

Merlin’s legs lost all feeling when the blade pierced Arthur’s skin.

The air rushed out of his lungs in an agonal whoosh. His head swam. His left side throbbed. An overwhelming dread filled his heart as he tipped backwards on the spiral stairs and lost all sense of direction. He tumbled straight into a set of strong arms, Morgana’s bracelet flying off in another direction. 

The screams returned at once. 

They all cried in unison, an alarm bell both piercing and beseeching. They drowned out all other noise and caused Merlin’s body to spasm with intense pain, the primary source coming from his lower left side. A hand slapped his cheek, forcing his blurry eyes wide to find Lancelot’s lips moving without sound. His creased brow conveyed deepening concern. The screams grew louder, the pain intensified, and Merlin willed his own mind to fight the ever-growing urge to pass out. 

Then cool brass found his wrist and sent a chill through his body. Merlin fought past the residual panic to find the one voice that rose above the fading whispers.

 _Merlin..._

_Don’t you dare die on me, you prat._

Merlin immediately and awkwardly climbed onto his feet with the help of his knights. Each man took an arm and he darted forward at once, nearly pulling them alongside with his newfound and likely short-lived strength. 

“Hurry! He needs us.” 

Gwaine and Lancelot followed obediently, arms at the ready to catch the scrawny, clumsy, and ridiculous hero who had no business being so damned brave. 

They arrived on the proper floor and Merlin clumsily ran down a dark hallway. He passed shadows of monsters and looming ghosts. He nodded at memories of poisoned chalices, dragons gone rogue, enemy invasions, and the rise of the dead. He wrapped himself in Arthur’s horseplay, protective shoves, loving touches, and warm and longing stares over campfires.

It all led them to this moment, a destiny even more stubborn than the two men it brought together.

Merlin braked quickly and nearly fell atop Leon at the entrance to the Grand Hall. Gwaine and Lancelot slowed their pace only slightly more gracefully. 

“Arthur…”

“Merlin?” Leon’s eyes widened, and his face twisted into a frown directed at the other knights. “What’s happened?” 

Merlin threw the larger man aside with strength forged from magic and desperation and spewed a command with all the authority of a king. 

“Move.”

Then he burst through the double doors with his hands out in front and his eyes glowing gold.

……..

_Merlin…_

Two strong arms lifted Arthur’s crumpled body from the stone floor. He fell limply back against a warm chest and cupped the mortal wound just below his chest plate. Blood flowed freely between the chainmail links. His fingers turned Pendragon red, the malicious color seeping between the fading blue sparks. Staring into those familiar squinted eyes, he choked out the name of his murderer.

“Father…” 

Uther cradled Arthur like a baby and pushed his sweaty hair back from his forehead.

“Shh, my son. Don’t speak. It will be over soon.” 

“No…” Arthur coughed. He fought against the king’s stronghold and failed at once. The breath left him with even the most minute of movements. He forced it through his clenched teeth to form a desperate command. “Let me go.”

“My son, I hoped this day would never come.” Uther squeezed, sending a shot of pain through Arthur’s abdomen, and choked on his words. “I never wanted to lose my wife, give up my child, but a king must do what needs done! Sorcery must never rule.”

“Look out the window, father.” Arthur gasped a toothy smile, tasting metal on his tongue. “You’re too late. Even if I die, they will live, and you will _never_ touch them again.”

Uther raised his head and stared past the open balcony door and out into the square. The crowd continued to expand and the golden-eyed outnumbered the rest. A blue light encompassed the entire sky, commanded by his ward herself. It hung idly as if awaiting a command to strike. Uther’s face paled at the sight. His lower lip quivered. 

Arthur lifted his hand, allowing the wound to freely spurt, and flexed his numbing fingers. The sparks fizzled, his waning strength taking its toll. His mind threatened unconsciousness and then a force not his own kicked in. Arthur jolted awake and immediately became aware of the words coming from his now sobbing patriarch. 

“I had to do it, Arthur.” Uther’s tears wet Arthur’s armor. “I had to protect you.”

Arthur pushed aside the blinding pain, formed his hand into a fist, and concentrated on Merlin. His beautiful smile. His delicate fingers. His eyes, blue like the sky, studying Arthur’s face in meticulous detail beneath the cover of their tent just the previous night. The memories created a blossoming warmth in Arthur's chest. Slowly, Merlin’s blue took over the edges of Arthur’s vision and soothed the rough edges left by the red. A protective surge began deep within his chest, fueled by memories of Merlin lying in that trench, and traveled down his arm to his hand. 

Arthur placed a stiff palm upon Uther’s chest, opened his golden eyes, and kept his promise.

……..

Merlin burst through the doors, stumbled to his knees, and crawled to the body lying motionless upon the stone floor.

_Arthur, please no…_

He immediately pressed his hands to the throbbing wound. His own side smarted at the sudden impact. He breathed through the pain and pressed harder, forcing the still flowing blood between his and Arthur’s flesh to slow. Gaius’ words echoed in his mind.

As long as the blood flows, life remains. 

The warlock used his other arm to pull the prince’s torso into his lap. He cradled the angular face and whispered a healing spell. It landed flat. The second spell had the same effect. He’d always been rubbish at healing spells, but with his magic locked away beneath his borrowed power, Arthur didn’t stand a chance. Lancelot and Gwaine lingered above, their faces grim. Leon circled Uther’s body, his sword at the ready. 

Merlin could feel even from across the hall that the king still breathed.

“I’ll get Gaius.” Leon volunteered and rushed from the room. Merlin’s attention never left his prince’s pasty complexion. He swallowed a rising dread and used his voice. It came out hoarse and broken, as if it hadn’t been used in centuries.

“Arthur, open your eyes.” 

The pale face didn’t even flinch. Merlin placed his ear to Arthur’s chest and listened. The heartbeat slowed, stunted, but continued for the time. He stayed there, caressing the broken skin around the wound. They’d touched so much in the previous days and yet never more intimately than a cuddle. Merlin had been terrified of Arthur learning of his own magic, of the man he loved hating him for forcing his deepest secret to the surface, that he’d pulled away. 

Merlin gripped Arthur tight and poured his everything into a silent plea.

 _Arthur, please. Camelot needs you. I need you. I love you. You can’t die yet._

Merlin’s stomach clenched. Dread filled his chest. Tears flooded his vision, his own for the first time in days. From this blurry angle, the blue light cascaded from outside and shined upon Merlin’s wrist and the bracelet it bore. He silently read the healing inscription, a seed of hope blooming.

 _Ic the thurhhaele thinu licsar mid tham sundorcraeft thaere ealdan_

Merlin tore Morgana’s bracelet from his arm. He lifted Arthur’s limp wrist and attached the charm, carefully smoothing the metal over the clammy skin to ensure full contact. He held it there, begged it to do his bidding, and returned his ear to that broad chest.

_Please, Arthur._

Arthur’s pulse bounded in Merlin’s ear and his wound emitted a beautiful blue glow. The bleeding ceased and his skin immediately took on a pinker tone. Merlin exhaled, ignoring the feverish warmth creeping up his own spine. Lifting his head, he nodded quietly to Gwaine and Lancelot.

“It’s okay, Arthur.” He muttered. “You’re going to be okay now.” 

Merlin lowered his prince to the ground and stood on shaky legs.

The emotions returned like a punch to the gut. Merlin wavered, gasped, and clutched his chest to tame his racing heart. The empaths clawed at him from within, begged for their freedom. The fear and agony interlaced with anger at the man across the room. Merlin choked on their tears that now seeped from every orifice in his body. A curtain fell upon his vision, obscuring his sight and thinning his emotional filter to nearly nothing. 

The air around him tingled and sparked. Gwaine and Lancelot approached with roving hands. Eyes wide, Merlin jumped back and fled to the other side of the hall. 

“Stay away!” He threw his arms out and backtracked. “I can’t contain them much longer.” 

“Merlin, you’ve held on for this long. You only need a few more moments.” Lancelot pleaded. His eyes softened and watered. “Gaius will be here soon with your potion. He’ll heal you.”

A slashing pain hit Merlin’s neck. He grabbed for his vulnerable flesh and caught the neckerchief in his claws. The red fabric loosened and released in his desperate grip. It gently drifted all the way down to the floor between the knights and their warlock. 

“Lance is right, Merlin.” Gwaine took an extra step forward with his hand out and ready to disarm. “You know Arthur will have our heads if we let you explode before he can snog ya.” 

“Sorcerer!” 

The spitting accusation came from the far end of the hall. All three turned at once. Merlin hands clamped protectively over his throat as Uther Pendragon pulled himself to his feet. Arthur’s sword dangled from Uther’s hands. He swayed and fumbled much like Merlin and faced the group with a growing sneer. 

_“You_ corrupted my son. _You_ made me kill my boy.” 

The empaths pulled together within Merlin’s gut, a solid defense against a common enemy. They formed a single pulsing energy that wrapped his body in a swirling cerulean glow. The light came from his eyes, his ears, even his gaping mouth. It warmed, rejuvenated, and filled his legs with just enough strength to run. 

Merlin barked a laugh through flowing tears and gave one last nod to his friends.

“Tell Arthur I’ll snog him properly in the next life.” 

Time slowed. Uther advanced, eyes murderous and hands armed with Arthur’s sword. Merlin’s legs carried his body in an effortless sprint. Each step produced a thundering boom. His nerves ignited, his skin burned, his lungs rebelled. Merlin’s throat opened with a primal scream. Empath magic launched out of him like bolts, each shot meeting its target with great precision. Merlin’s voice fell away when they collided. He hooked his arms around Uther, sending the sickening scrape of sword against flesh, the metallic taste of blood, the agonizing pressure of breathlessness, and the scent of rotting flesh into Uther’s fragile body. The king’s arms went limp, the sword fell to the ground, and he wavered. Merlin hung on, gritting his teeth against the terrible agony of his own slashed throat, drowning lungs, and convulsing muscles.

Uther fell first, rightfully and truly dead. Merlin collapsed immediately after.

……..

Arthur kissed Merlin properly on the last and first day of both of their lives.

He poured Gaius’ potion between the warlock’s lips, now so red against his pale skin, and cupped his palm over the clammy cheek. Then he leaned down and kissed the potion further into Merlin’s idle mouth. Merlin’s skin warmed immediately from the flower’s effects, his pulse stuttering faster, but the body remained vacant of anything resembling Merlin. Arthur stayed, his forehead touching Merlin’s, and silently begged anyone who would listen to wake this sweet, beautiful, and heroic man from eternal slumber. 

_Help him, please. He’s dying. I love him and he’s dying._

Arthur pulled Merlin against his chest. Then his eyes turned to the sky at the hint of sapphire light. It encompassed the balcony and, slowly, it seeped into the Grand Hall itself. His knights stepped back, pushing Gaius and Gwen behind, as the pulsing sphere passed through the threshold. It floated with purpose towards the prince and his warlock. Arthur pulled the broken man closer, sheltering him within his chest, and stared directly into the light. A chorus of voices spoke to him in unison, all in perfect sync. 

_It’s okay, Arthur. You’ve healed Emrys’s body. Allow us to heal his soul._

Arthur studied Merlin’s face, noting the pink hue in his cheeks, and sniffled back his tears. 

_You promised me a proper snog, you idiot. Well the next life is here and I’m ready. Open your eyes and let’s start making everything right together._

Then he carefully laid Merlin back onto the stone floor and smoothed down the black hair. He placed a single kiss on Merlin’s forehead, leaving a few tears behind, and stepped away with clenched fists. Then he turned to the sphere and nodded.

_I trust you. Just bring him back._

The cerulean bubble enveloped Merlin. It pulsed and flashed, to the chanting of hundreds of sorcerers, witches, and warlocks just outside of the citadel. The chanting grew louder, stronger, and the sphere darkened until Merlin’s body could hardly be seen through its barriers. Gaius’s eyes closed and his lips moved in harmony with the other voices. Then he approached Arthur and took his hand. The prince found, to his own surprise, that he knew the words and joined in with the old sorcerer’s encouragement. 

The others simply looked on and hoped. 

Then, all at once, the sphere regained its translucence. It lifted from the man, floated across the hall, and returned to the balcony, where it burst forth and lit all the heavens in a brilliant sapphire. 

Finally, the warlock stirred. Eyes as blue as the new sky fluttered open. Flushed lips twisted into a goofy smile.

"Arthur, I'm ready too."

The sun had just touched the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. Etc.
> 
> Author's Note: Thank you a million times over for taking this ride with me. It's been such fun to write this piece and give Camelot and Albion a new beginning. I hope I did well by it and our boys. Look out for an epliogue, filled with Merthur fluff and happy endings, by the end of this coming weekend. I've had it stuck in my head since I began this story, so I'm looking forward to finally putting it into words.


	9. All Finally Understood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months after Uther's death and the legalization of magic, Merlin, Arthur, and the knights travel back to the clearing that started a revolution and ended a reign of terror. This time, peace will be had by all.

Merlin’s toes wiggled beneath a layer of loose dirt and carved out a haven for his bare feet. 

The warlock extended his knees, sighed into a lazy stretch, and then settled into a cross-legged position amidst the beautiful rock garden. The stones, all various shades of brown, red, and gray, piled together and created an intricate pattern throughout the space. They looped around and formed two inward-facing arches connected with a solid line, the symbol of those who rested just below in a grave since filled with dirt consecrated by the magic of their descendants. 

One such descendant settled back in, closed his eyes, and emotionally opened himself. 

The corners of Merlin’s lips curled up in a barely-there smile. His eyes moved beneath draped lids as their magic ran up his spine like a warm hand. It ignited all of his senses at once and keenly alerted him to his surroundings. The scent of fresh greenery overwhelmed, and the wind carried the moldy tang of pending rain. Rocks crashed together and muffled the huffs of laboring knights. Bushes rustled on the other side of the clearing, an animal confident in its step, and the weight of the humid air drew sweat from his skin. 

Past the surface sensations, below the earth, Merlin found contentment, gratitude, and a message meant for a king. 

The dirt shifted under heavy footsteps. Merlin’s lips quirked into a smirk as a broad, bare chest hovered above and then covered his back. Solid arms encircled his torso and muscled legs spread comfortably around his jutting knees. A second set of bare feet capped off the triangle formed by their joined bodies. The voice, winded and yet sure, addressed all present.

“How are your friends today?” 

Merlin reclined and nestled his head in the crook of Arthur’s strong shoulder. 

“Talkative. They’re quite impressed by the shirtless king laboring to give them a proper resting place.” 

Arthur snorted and hid his warming face in Merlin’s hair. Merlin’s cheeks pinkened in solidarity and stretched upwards at Arthur’s husky whisper. 

“Are you sure it’s not you who is impressed?” 

Merlin grinned and entwined their fingers over his belly. A spark of empath magic awoke deep within his gut, a gift from his ancestors. It twisted and pulsed with life renewed like a species brought back from extinction. At Merlin’s command, his empath magic brightened his already blue eyes and shared his craving for his king along with the pleasant tightening in his groin. Arthur smiled against Merlin’s temple and melded the younger man firmly to his front, revealing his own fervent feelings on the subject.

_That settles it. I’m never wearing a shirt again._

_Even in the dead of winter?_

_Especially in winter because then you’ll have to keep me warm._

_Prat._

_Idiot._

A warm breeze came through and Merlin laughed lightly in shared amusement with their friends just below. Arthur abruptly loosened his hold. He released a disappointed sigh into Merlin’s hair. 

“This talk can’t be appropriate in such a sacred place.”

“They don’t mind.” Merlin pulled those arms back around his waist adamantly. “They only knew hate, greed, fear, and apathy for so long. Their hearts craved love, so much so that it nearly broke them all. That’s why they chose us. They felt our connection, even before we did ourselves.” 

Arthur hummed and ran his thumb over Merlin’s sensitive belly with care. The air grew heavy with more than just the approaching rainstorm. Merlin swallowed the foul taste that always accompanied Arthur’s unsettled guilt and stilled the larger hands with his own.

“You’re their hero, Arthur, their king. You gave them peace and you’re ensuring that those like them will never suffer the same fate. You’ve nothing left to atone for.”

Arthur buried his eyes in Merlin’s shoulder and shook his head.

“If it’d been you…well I’d never forgive the man who allowed such atrocities to come to pass.” 

Merlin twisted around in their protected circle and wrapped his legs around Arthur’s waist. Then he framed that pinched face in his palms and touched their foreheads. He searched for the magic within Arthur, the outstretched hand lost in the darkness. He found it flailing, groping, and reached for it with a steady grip.

It’d taken some time for Arthur to adjust to his abilities. There’d been plenty of fires and broken dishes, fights and general pratishness on Arthur’s part. Some nights the king refused to sleep because he feared he’d accidentally set Merlin ablaze in their bed. They took it slow, Merlin training Arthur in magic with the same patience as Arthur had once shown while schooling him in tracking and self-defense. Then, while polishing Excalibur, Merlin had an idea. He dragged the king to the training grounds the next morning and asked Arthur to teach him the basic methods of maintaining control during a swordfight. Arthur’s face lit with the most beautiful clarity that day and he never broke a pot again.

Now, their magic whole and honed, Arthur’s eyes reflected Merlin’s gold. The warlock grounded their connection and shared the comfort and acceptance given to him just moments before by their friends below.

“Do you know what they said to me, just before you sat down?” He placed a chaste kiss upon Arthur’s scrunched nose. “They said ‘tell that brooding king of yours that the sins of his father are not his to bear. The past is done, the present is bright, and the future holds promise. The reign of suffering has ended for all, including King Arthur.’” 

Arthur’s blue eyes flashed and then cleared with a new understanding. The tension melted from his face and his lips opened and shut while he searched for the correct response. In the end he simply moved his hand to the back of Merlin’s head and combed possessive fingers through the crooked tuft of hair, a touch that always soothed them both. He inhaled deeply, as if he’d been slowly suffocating over a lifetime, and raised a teasing eyebrow.

“Wise words” Arthur bumped their noses together playfully, his blooming release reaching the rest of his body in a cleansing sigh. “They couldn’t possibly be coming from my dollophead husband who on occasion speaks in profound truths.” 

_“Brooding?_ Does that sound like a word I’d use?” Merlin snorted. “I would’ve gone with self-flagellating, stubborn, pompous, cabbage headed...” 

Arthur cut Merlin off with a kiss that immediately erased his train of thought. Their lips moved together with the ease of familiarity and the intensity of a love long anticipated by fate itself. Their magic writhed just beneath, awake and alive. Arthur nipped at the little dimple beneath Merlin’s bottom lip, smiling at the younger’s bubbling laughter, and Merlin responded by tracing radiant designs in the sweat of Arthur’s bare back. The king shivered under the teasing touch and Merlin absorbed a slurry of need, desire, and adoration so encompassing that he hardly noticed when the air shifted again. 

They broke apart just as the sun disappeared behind a dark cloud, signaling the coming rain. 

Arthur met Merlin’s longing gaze, his cheeks pink and warm. 

“We should head back before Morgana worries and sends Mordred after us. Tell _our_ friends that we’ll return in the morning?” He smoothed Merlin’s hair down with a roll of his eyes. “And take care not to forget your boots. I won’t be carrying you back again like a blushing bride.”

Merlin responded with one chaste kiss and then accepted Arthur’s offered hand. He let the larger man boost him up to his feet and brushed the dirt from his pants with a challenging stare.

“As I recall, I wasn’t the one blushing.” 

Arthur gave a crooked smile and muttered a single “dollophead” as he turned back. 

The king took four steps towards the clearing and stopped. His body bent slightly to the left and a hand ran nervously across the back of his neck. Then, without turning around, he spoke only for Merlin’s ears. 

_Merlin, tell them I said ‘thank you.’ For everything. All of it. Just thank you._

An understanding passed between them and then Arthur disappeared in search of the knights.  


Merlin turned back to the rock garden one last time. It teemed with gratitude, fondness, and kinship so intense that it penetrated his very bones. Merlin accepted it all with a few deep breaths and then closed his eyes. He held up his hand and lit the symbol of his people in the most beautiful sapphire, a protection spell to ward off the few dissenters left in the surrounding kingdoms. 

In return, an invisible blanket of protection draped across his shoulders. 

_Take care, Emrys. Until tomorrow._

Merlin followed Arthur’s tracks through the proudly waving rainbow of ribbons and into the clearing. His heart stunted when he found the king and his knights frozen in absolute awe. He opened his mouth, ready with another protection spell, when Arthur’s hand gently covered his lips. The king simply nodded forward with no intention of abandoning the source of his attention. Merlin followed their shared gaze and lost all ability to speak. 

A moose, the former object of their hunt, perched near the unfinished altar with her head bowed. Beside her, a calf grazed reverently around the jagged stone piles. His tail flipped back and forth contentedly as he knawed on a shrub. Slowly, the mother raised her head and met the men once meant to end her life with kind and trusting eyes. 

Not one of the seven men raised a weapon. The moose didn’t charge or run. 

They simply remained in each other’s company for several uninterrupted moments. 

Merlin’s magic swelled, warming him with its joy. He smiled into Arthur’s hand. Gwaine and Elyan shared a giddy laugh. Lancelot and Leon nodded to each other, fighting foolish smiles. Percival braced upon a tree and shook his head in wonderment.

Arthur released Merlin’s lips and entwined their fingers. Their glowing eyes met and an entire conversation passed without a single spoken word. 

All finally understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: For one last time, I don't own any of them. I just give them a happier ending. 
> 
> Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to all who've read, reviewed, and sent their kudos. I dove into this fic with this scene in mind, but not entirely sure how the boys would get here. Overall, I'm quite pleased and I hope that I've managed to entertain some of you during this difficult time and do these amazing characters justice.


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